


Muntazir

by the_drift



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Intersex Loki, Jotun Loki, Laufey's A++ parenting too, Loki did not have a happy childhood, M/M, Odin's A+ Parenting, Slow Burn, Trust Issues, dealing with cultural differences, kid!loki, learning trust, teenage thor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-05-03 04:31:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14560929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_drift/pseuds/the_drift
Summary: Consort to be, child bride, prince Loki Laufeyjarson is sent from Jotunheim as a political tool to end centuries of strife between the Frost Giants and the Asgardians. A feat unheard of before, towards which everyone is apprehensive.Behind all the machinations of politics and war, there is young Thor, coming to terms by force with the fact he has to be the pillar to support his future Kingdom’s paradigm shift. There is also young Loki, still balancing between the cusp of childhood and boyhood, shoulders straight, chin up, who has been carefully groomed for the sole purpose of becoming a political pawn.The roles they play are different, but their longings are similar.Definitely read the Notes sections at the beginning of the chapters, please.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me when I stumbled upon an artwork of a young Thor showing a small Loki the Asgardian library. Unfortunately, I could not find the source for the drawing, henceforth, I will not post it, but if it sounds familiar to anyone, please guide me in the direction of the artist.
> 
> Please note that the story contains a very young Loki (a few hundred years in Asgardian/Jotun years, perhaps 14-15 or less in ours) so if you are uncomfortable with that, it is best you do not read this story. 
> 
> I have consistently ignored MCU canon about the Jotuns and pretty much everything else, and I really have no excuses except the fact that I did it for the aesthetic. 
> 
> Laufey is female, as mentioned in the myths and Eddas. 
> 
> Loki is referred to as Laufeyjarson ( Old Norse for ‘Loki Laufey’s son) in the fic as he was addressed as such in the old Eddic Poetry, which made me believe that Jotunheim was a mostly matriarchal society. I found the idea interesting and decided to just roll with it. 
> 
> Most of this chapter was written while listening to a song called “Ya Sahra” by Light in Babylon.

**Muntazir** (Urdu)

  _منتظر muntaz̤ir, act. part. of اِنْتظر 'to expect; to wait anxiously for'_

 

 

 

 

 

 

_“Lovers find secret places_

_inside this violent world_

_where they make transactions_

_with beauty.”_

― **Rumi**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  He had received a kiss on the forehead from the Queen, a chaste, cold one that held no promise of gentleness, before he saw light cross the great pillars of the throne room, so bright and colorful it was it gave the illusion that it shifted the fabric of the architecture of the throne room itself.

He looked over his shoulder, his chin gently scratching over the heavy necklace around it and saw a tall man dressed in gold, holding a sword walk out of the light. His eyes were golden as well, and even his skin, dark as it was, seemed tinged with yellow shimmers. Loki had never seen anyone like him before, a man, a God, that seemed to radiate from the inside out. 

Loki turned around himself, the long edges of his red orange robe trailing around him, to best look at him. His servants in waiting did the same, alongside all those present in the throne room and they all faced the man who walked out of the Bifrost light.

Laufey herself did not move, but her eyes stood to attention, alert and shimmering red. Loki only heard her heavy gold bracelets move as she shifted her hands to rest on the arms of the throne, assuming a position of command he was well familiar with; he thought about the many times he had tried those bracelets on, how big they were for his small wrists, how incredibly heavy they seemed, how he wondered how his mother was able to rise her arms at all when she had so many, dozens, circling the blue skin of her arms. He always seemed to forget she was a giant.

 

 Silly things such as that crossed his mind as they all waited for the golden man to cross the distance. He stopped a few steps away from them, placing his great sword in front of himself, shoulders straight. He was commanding without having even uttered a single word yet.

Did all Asgardians look and behave like that, Loki wondered? Would they all be dark and golden, commanding attention to themselves? Loki had only seen emissaries before, but they did not look like the golden man at all. At best, their clothes were silver, sometimes brown, but simple, and their faces were pale and their eyes were bright, like forests in the morning or shallow oceans in the summer. 

 

“Loki Laufeyjarson,” the man thundered, his deep voice filled the hall, and he hit the ground with the tip of his sword twice. It echoed with a hollow but visceral sound, as if it rippled through the very fabric of the walls and pillars “I am Heimdall, Asgard’s Protector, and I have come to claim you in the name of Odin, King of Asgard, God of Wisdom and Battle, and his son, Thor, Prince of Asgard, God of Thunder and Strength.” His sword hit the ground again, twice, and the noise vibrated through the walls of the throne room again, sending chills of both fear and awe down Loki’s spine “Are you given away by your own free will?”

Loki looked at his mother over his shoulder, but she did not spare him a glance as she sat in her throne, clad in orange robes that fell over her seat in an abundance of color, in stark contrast with her blue skin. She towered over Fárbauti, her Aesir husband by two heads, even when sitting down, as she never let her spine bend, or her shoulders slouch.

Loki felt the need to straighten himself just by looking at her. It had been not only once that she had driven her thumb, fingernails pointed and sharp, into the small off his back or in between his shoulder blades whenever he looked like he was slouching. A set of shoulders, any shoulders, were enough to come into Loki’s view to remind him to check his position.

Fárbauti watched his wife with intent, almost as if he was expecting her to change her mind, but he said nothing, as Loki hardly ever remembered his father ever saying a thing in the great hall of the throne, which was not in agreement with his Queen.

Laufey raised her right arm and her bracelets clinked together with a heavy sound; her long fingers, adorned with jade, stretched in the general direction of her son, her palm turning up in offering as her dark lips parted and said “He is yours to take.”

With that, Heimdall hit his sword onto the ground three times and stood to the side, inviting the convoy into the Bifrost path with a slight nod of his head.

 

Loki glanced at his mother expectantly, a part of him waiting for her to say something, anything. He did not expect her to stop the course of action though, no, not at all. Loki had been brought up for the sole purpose of becoming the consort of the Asgardian Prince; he had been told that from an early age and he had stopped considering an escape from the fate that had been set before him a long time ago. What he was expecting from his mother was one last kindness.

“ _Go_.” Was all she offered.

 

 And so Loki went, turning his eyes away from her and his father, so absent he might as well have not been there at all, and he walked towards the light path flanked by his closest servants and a dozen others who would stay with him until the day of the ceremony which was to happen within the century, before they too, would be returning to Jotunheim. And then Loki would be left alone to deal with his Prince and future King.

But he had known this, he told himself, he had known this since a very long time ago, that this was how things would go.

 

One of his servants stepped in front of him and placed the ceremonial headdress veil over Loki’s face. The veil attached itself to his horns and around his head, covering his hair in gems and orange red thread spun with gold, then fell over his face in an embellishment of very small but wonderfully crafted precious stones that were only found in the highest mountains of Jotunheim.

They shimmered in the light and changed color according to temperature and were held together by the band of gold that went around Loki’s horns and forehead. He saw Heimdall watching him with interest as the servant placed the veil over his face and he could almost read the ghost of a grin over the golden man’s face, as if he was amused by the situation or perhaps, as if he was trying to encourage Loki.

 

But Loki could not be sure.

He could not yet tell who was to be his enemy or his friend.

His mother had told him he would most likely not find friends in Asgard to begin with, henceforth he should regard everyone with suspicion.

 

Loki held Heimdall’s gaze to the best of his abilities before the veil was set into place, allowing him to see the world in between the short glimpses the rows of gems allowed him to as they moved along with the sway of his body. He held his hands in front of himself and the rest of the servants took care of his bracelets and rings, gold and jade, dragonstone and turquoise.

They filled his fingers, some of the rings large enough to cover his finger up to the knuckle, others delicate enough to be placed two on a finger. He could barely hold his hands up by the time they were finished. His neck was heavy with a golden ceremonial necklace that fell in rows of red and gold over his collarbones and chest and ended with gold round shapes stamped with words of Jotun blessings.

It had been handed down for generations, following the matriarchal line of his mother, as they all had assumed the female form in order to be passed down the throne. Loki was the first one in line whose sex had not yet been settled by his age, since he was only half Jotun and his body still accomodated both sexes, albeit possibily infertile as he would prove to be if his body would settle for the female gender. 

But that was not a requirement for him anymore, since he would not take the Jotunheim throne anymore, and, instead of taking a consort, he would become one himself. Loki had no doubts his mother had given him away so easily and almost without a fight because he represented everything a royal Jotun should not be (smaller than the rest, his body delaying the transfomation of his sex, horns barely growing).

But those were thoughts he entertained only with himself, in his most private and lonely moments, and not something he would think of on this day. Perhaps the next one, perhaps within the decade. His fate was set now and it might have turned out the same even if he would have been a full-blood Jotun. At least he tried to make himself believe that. 

 

His ankle chirped with one single bracelet that held on to a single bell, clasped on by the youngest servant. As soon as it was around his ankle, it fused together with magic. He would never be able to unclasp it, as consort, for he was to be heard when he stepped, his life not only his own anymore. He had heard there was a legend about the ceremonial ankle bell, but his mother told him it was a stupid thing he shouldn’t worry his head with so Loki never asked. It crossed his mind in that moment that he would have liked to know regardless of how silly it was. He would have wanted a comfort, of any kind.

 

“We are ready.” Sigge, Loki’s private servant said, standing by his side.

Heimdall nodded and took lead and they all stepped onto the Bifrost path. The lights were unlike anything Loki had ever seen before, the speed of their travel incredible. He almost felt dizzy but the hands of his servants were holding him tight, making sure he would end up on the other side still standing straight. It was a matter of first impressions, wasn’t it?

Loki glanced up but he could not see an end to it. To his sides, planets and dimensions swept by in an instant. Heimdall, his sword held high, looked down at Loki, his eyes saying nothing but that one time, his mouth actually arched up in the faintest of smiles. Loki did not respond to it, but even if he would have, Heimdall would not have seen it behind the veil.

 

 And suddenly there they were, in a golden room leading out onto the Rainbow Bridge Loki had heard so many stories about, and beyond it, the lights of a city that seemed to be made out of gold and marble. The first thing he noticed was the quality of the air, less crip than the Jotunheim air, heavier with humidity than what he was used to. Then the temperature, a warm wind barely tamed by the breeze of the sea. It smelled like salt water and moss, a particular scent, quite unique, he would have to get used to.

Loki could only guess Asgard's shapes in the distance. It looked majestic, opulent in a completely different way than the golden, lazy, sultry opulence of Jotunheim. Whereas Jotunheim was silks and honey around the rigidity of ice and stone, Asgard seemed to be glistening metal and sharp, golden edges over soft waterfalls and lush forests. It seemed robust like mountains are, in a way that is magnificent and also imposing.

It looked nothing like Jotunheim’s secret passages and heavily, delicately carved pillars, nothing like the detailed embroideries the Jotun clothes painstakingly had sewn upon them.

They were the same –  grand, magnificent places, but truly nothing alike.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 The convoy moved at a slow pace, with Heimdall by Loki’s side, as the child consort was leading the way, flanked by all his servants. All of their jewelry made a sound Loki found soothing as they walked, clinks of precious metals and stones, a song that belonged to him and him only, familiar echoes of the palace he had grown up in, of his own kin that he was now leaving behind with a reluctant heart.

 It was true that Loki had never quite fitted in with his kin either, but he was sure he would be more welcomed back home than in Asgard. At least at home he had his title to hide behind, and no one would try to hurt him, as the son of the Queen. Perhaps with gossip, as it had often happened, but those gossips were resolved eventually. He was becoming skilled in magic, and that alone brought him some respect among his people.

The Asgardians though, would not appreciate the dark tendrils of his magic, he knew that. But it was such a well defined part of himself he would feel like he missed a limb if he would not use it. He had to be careful now, his every step had to be careful, well thought out and in sync with what he was trying to achieve.

They walked past people who seemed to have been waiting to see him for a long time and Loki saw their curious glances from behind his veil of gems, and he saw the way they whispered to each other. There was no parade, there were no flowers, there were no cheers.

Loki was, in a way, a spoil of war, the blunt edge of a sword they had to reluctantly accept. A curiosity. How would he ever make himself a Prince in their eyes as well, when it had been a struggle to become one in the eyes of his own people, Loki did not know, and he was scared for it all, but he had prepared for that fear none the less and as soon as he felt it, he snatched it and placed it in a chest in his mind, to be opened at another time, when it would be safe to deal with it.

He thought of what he had to do now, how to present himself, how to speak, how to observe and assess those around him and how to, eventually, secure favors and how to listen, all those things his mother had been adamant he learned.

He would be ready for them all when they would take off his veil, he would be ready for the Prince and soon in the future, he would be ready to raise his magic from the deepest roots of Yggdrasil and place it in the hands of a Völva to create a child that would be both an Asgardian and a Jotun, a unique child that would secure a future for both their Kingdoms.

 Back when Jotunheim and Asgard had reached their fragile truce, Loki had only been born, a creature that did not seem to decide between the blue skin of his mother and the pale one of his Aesir father, and no one was going to sit around and wait for Laufey to have another child, bred with the sole purpose of being given away, so she offered Loki, word was, without being asked, securing a marriage with the reluctant Asgardians within a fortnight.

It was unheard of for the Asgardians, but perfectly acceptable within the rules of the truce and both parties had accepted it with less than open hearts. Loki’s life from then on had been nothing but a product of that agreement.

That was his only purpose. What came after, he would figure it out somehow, as long as he went through with the ceremony and did what he had been told to do.

 

 All those things were running through his mind as they entered through the castle gate and saw three people waiting at the top of the stairs, in the midst of many others, all so elegantly but simply dressed, in stark contrast to the deep colors, detailed embellishments and jewelry of the Jotun. Heimdall led the convoy up the stairs and stepped to the side when he reached the three figures. 

“Prince Loki Laufeyjarson of Jotunheim, here of his own free will, to be given as consort to Prince Thor Odinson of Asgard.” Heimdall announced. No slamming of his sword this time.

“Welcome, child.” Odin himself spoke, as Loki bowed, ever so slightly, as he had practiced many times, so as to keep his headdress in place. The gems of his veil clinked together with a slight but pleasant sound. Odin did not seem to notice or appreciate their subtlety. His voice was deep and old, and it barely masked an unfaltering indifference. Loki caught glimpses of him through his veil, white hair and a face with an expression as if set in stone, whose one eye seemed to always be searching for something else than what was ahead of him.

 Loki had been told Odin would not like him. He had been told Odin found his kin despicable and he had been told about how he had thundered against the terms of the truce between Asgard and Jotunheim.

Loki pushed the unpleasantness setting in his stomach as far away as he could. He could cry and vomit afterwards, when he was alone in his room.

“My Lord.” He said, instead.

Odin made a loose gesture with his hand in Loki’s direction “You may remove your veil.”

 

 Loki did not budge, as much as he wanted to take it off himself, but his mother had told him to stand his ground because a union and a truce did not mean the Jotun had to assimilate the Asgardian tradition completely “I cannot, my Lord, if you permit me to say so. In Jotun tradition, the veil is to be removed only by the other husband or wife.”

There was a moment of silence, murmurs from the crowd, and Loki saw only in fragments beyond the rows of precious gems covering his face Odin exchange a glance with the woman next to him, most likely his wife, a beautiful lady with large eyes and hair like honey. She took a deep breath and set a smile on her face, nodding towards Odin and then she turned around to the figure standing next to her and did the same.

 Loki could not see the Prince very well, he was standing directly with the sunlight behind him and the gems threw confusing shimmers into Loki’s eyes, but he caught a glimpse of his red cape as the Prince went down the stairs and stood before him.

He was much taller than Loki. Without his horns, Loki barely reached the Prince’s chest and saying that would still be an indulgence. Loki was not sure how tall he would grow though, an Aesir father and a Jotun mother was as uncommon as his own union with an Asgardian, but he hoped he would not outgrow the Prince. It would be awkward.

“It fastens at the horns, my Prince.” Loki offered after the Prince put his hands around the golden headband, trying to find the way to remove it. His fingers twitched, almost going up to do it himself but he kept them in place, putting one hand over the other, making himself keep still, pressing his rings so deep into his skin it hurt. Jotun tradition demanded the husbands or wives to take off each other’s headdresses and if there was any impediment in doing so, the stories went that the ceremony should not take place at all for the lovers were not meant to be.

But the Prince, after some fiddling and almost getting his fingers stuck in between the precious jewels attached to the veil by the headdress that covered Loki’s hair, managed to unclasp it from around his horns, gently pulling it off his head like it was something so fragile it might break just by the pressure exerted by his fingers.

 

 Loki looked up at him at long last, bracing himself and he was both relieved and frightened when he saw Prince Thor’s face - radiant as the sun he was, the top of his golden hair tied back while the rest of it fell over his shoulders in waves. Shoulders straight and broad (Loki straightened his back suddenly, an instinctive response), eyes as bright as morning skies. He seemed as confused as Loki felt, and that was a kindness, for Loki expected anything else but that, anything much worse than another confused young man who had been thrust into the situation they found themselves in by the winding arms of fate.

Or perhaps _it was_ worse and Loki would only have to wait and learn of it. Thor was not a friend, and he did not want their union any more than Loki did, Loki had to remember that. It was just something both of them had been subjected to against their will. Thor was nothing more than waters to be tested before he would be placed in the friend, foe or to-be-used category that encompassed oh so many kinds of people.

 

But, at least, his face looked kind.

 

 Thor offered Loki a face that filled with many feelings at once, surprise, perhaps a slight disgust as his blue eyes crossed Loki's face and his royal scarification marks, curiosity, and, after all that settled, a smile he managed to force out. Loki offered one in return, just that his own had been more well practiced in the mirror and came out as genuine.

Thor stood there for a moment, holding the headdress and searching Loki’s face for something Loki could not locate, before he looked around for help. It was Sigge, ever faithful and attentive, who took it out of his hands and Thor offered it to him with a grateful look in his eyes that almost, just almost, made Loki smile to himself.

 

 Normally, the removal of the veil would be greeted with flowers and drums, and eruption of screams that would carry the ceremony ahead through the night, fires would be lit and the place would be covered with a carpet of flowers, all of which would mark the beginning of the ceremony, but none such things were heard and Loki felt a pang of pain, realizing he would not get to feel that joy.

The removal of the veil was considered an important rite in Jotun culture and it was performed both at unions as well as other different ceremonies that served as a rite of passage onto another path in life, such as giantesses who became warriors or shamans. It marked the very beginning of the union to the Jotuns, but in his situation, for Loki it meant only the prelude of a period of a century or so, while he would be assimilating into Asgardian culture before proceeding with the actual union ceremony while his and Thor’s parents and councilors played at diplomacy and agreements.

 

 The removal of the veil was deeply symbolic for the Jotuns, but to the Asgardians it meant nothing more than a fancy headdress.

 It was alright, Loki thought, he had been prepared for this. He held his chin high, eyes set on Thor, trying to fill them with something warm and nice, something that would make him look softer in the eyes of the radiant young man before him.

He hoped that, if he managed that, he would be spared of at least a bit of the further suffering he was expecting to come in the next years. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mask Loki is wearing to the banquet is inspired by the boregheh masks worn by the Bandari women in Iran. I only embellished the mask with additions of my own I considered fitting for the Jotun culture I am creating for this story.

 

 

 

 

 

“A wealth you cannot imagine  
flows through you.  
Do not consider what strangers say.  
Be secluded in your secret heart-house,  
that bowl of silence.”  
― **Rumi**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  Loki turned to Sigge with an angry look on his face, a fury barely contained held behind his red eyes:  
“Did she ask the same of _you_ , Sigge?”  
Sigge looked down at Loki from where he stood, one head taller than his master, a look of guilt crossing his face. Sigge had been the closest thing Loki had ever had to a best friend, albeit divided by their statuses; he had confided in Sigge often, he had come to him with his face still stinging from his mother’s or teacher’s slaps and hits and he had allowed Sigge to caress his hair and hold him until he swallowed his sorrow.

Sigge had seen Loki in less than dignified situations, through sadness and griefs and he had shared many of his joys with him as well. Now Loki was watching his servants retreat out of his new quarters one by one, unable to look at him in the face.

  His mother had ordered them to return as soon as Loki was delivered to Asgard, in spite of having told Loki that they would have stayed with him at least until his union with the Asgardian Prince. Ashamed they went, heads bowed, their loose clothes training behind them in rich colors, pulling away at the last connections Loki had with his homeland.

  
“I order you to speak!” Loki yelled and Sigge almost flinched, an image of Loki’s mother suddenly rising  from the depths of Loki’s voice. Sigge nodded.  
“She did. But I begged her to let me stay with you until the ceremony. She said you needed to be strong  and having connections with your home will only make you long for it again and stand in the way of  fulfilling your duty.”  
Loki swallowed dryly, teeth clenched, nostrils flaring. He clenched and unclenched his fists, his rings hurting his fingers because of the pressure each time he did so. He had to do it, lest he lost his temper terribly and made a mess, causing the Asgardians to judge him instantly by that alone. Loki had too many memories of when his temper got the best of him and he had to face the consequences. 

 But oh, how anger was flaring up inside his chest, how it was burning hot, pulsating like lava beneath his skin. It was not Sigge’s fault, Loki knew it, he made himself know it, but it did not stop him from resenting the other young man regardless. How weak everyone was in front of his mother and her terrible rules and tempers! How powerless they still were even in another realm; how far the tendrils of her power still stretched, tugging at them out of unseen corners, still rich with power and intimidation.

  
Loki knew what his role was. He had accepted it.

  
But sometimes, he had to put his foot down, even if it was in the smallest of ways. He’d be reprimanded.  Or perhaps she would appreciate it.  
“Then leave now,” Loki said, sharply turning away from Sigge, and faced the open balcony of his  quarters “so she’d be sure nothing will stand in the way of the purpose I was raised for.”  
He would regret this within seconds, he was sure of it. But he had to stand by it regardless. To have the strength to make the hard decisions, for surely, he would have to make harder decisions than this one, in the future. 

  
“Please… it doesn’t mean I care any less for you, but she is my Queen. Don’t cast me away like this!”  
“You will have to leave soon regardless, best we make it quick.”  
“There is no reason to! I’ve been by your side for so long and I want to stay still, for as long as I can!”  
“My decision is made, Sigge, and there is no discussing it.”  
 Sigge pleaded, walking towards Loki. He fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around Loki’s waist.  Loki looked up to the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, pain etched on his face, his hands  hovering in the air, resisting the urge to touch Sigge’s hair. If he did, it would be his undoing. A part of  him perhaps loved Sigge, though Loki had never been sure of what love exactly _was_. 

He loved his mother too, but it was a love bred side by side with hate and fear, so he did not know if  that was how it was supposed to feel. The stories he read in his books spoke of love as much different than what he experienced, but stories were stories, were they not? Just something to appease the senses. He loved Sigge as long as he was kind and obedient, otherwise,  when he was weak at his feet like this, he loved him less.  
If all of these things were the things that made love, love, Loki did not necessarily like it.

  
His mother did not want Loki to be just strong. She wanted him to be colder than the icy mountains of Jotunheim themselves.

  
_Fine_.  
He looked away from Sigge as he pulled at his arms and squeezed them tight, before pushing them  
away.  
“I said, leave!” he thundered, walking away from Sigge “Make me say it again and I will bring the guards  on you to throw you into the Bifrost!”  
Sigge might have sobbed, Loki was not sure. He had fixed his eyes on the mountain peaks flanked by the Asgardian sunset, peering towards them with as much focus as he could muster. When Sigge realized that his master would not move, he walked away, Loki heard his bare feet shuffling across that cold marble floor, the ankle bracelets he wore that showed his status as a royal servant clinking along with his steps. 

He closed the door silently, as he had always done to any door in the palace, as he had always done after he had put Loki to sleep in his former bed. His bed filled with intricately decorated cushions and blankets as soft as clouds.

  
Loki looked over his shoulder at his new bed, large enough to fit five people at least, with silken covers  of shimmering gold threads and thin, perfectly white sheets. The mattress was hard and the pillows  were crisp. He hated it.  And he would have to put himself to bed every night, without Sigge’s comforting words, or his stories, or  his voice that used to sometimes read to him when he could not sleep.  But that was how it was going to be – there would be no comforts in Asgard for Loki of Jotunheim.

  
His stomach was in knots, as the many burdens and sorrows to come were already sowing the seeds of their troubles in his heart. He felt mildly sick. He put his hand on the edge of the marble water basin  next to the balcony and steadied himself. Not yet. After nightfall maybe, after the entire mess was done. But no earlier than that, he commanded himself.   
Someone knocked at his door and Loki pushed himself back into a straight position. Not knowing what  to do with his hands, he placed them one on top of the other.  
“Enter.”

  
 A young woman walked in, face as pale as the sheets on his bed and hair so curly it was almost  overflowing from the carefully arranged design perched on the back of her head. Her clothes were  simple, but rich. She barely wore any jewels and Loki remembered how little jewelry the Asgardians  seemed to wear, generally.  
She barely looked him in the eye.  
“Good afternoon, my-my Prince.” She said, momentarily confused as to how she was supposed to  address him. Loki had no idea how he would be addressed as either, so he let it slide “I am Astrid. I will  be your maid from now on.”  
“Oh.”  
“I was informed you do not have your own servants anymore, my Prince.”

  
 Ah, so everyone was in on it, except for Loki. Fine. He could work with this.  
He gave Astrid a once-over, just for good measure, before he removed one of his rings, one of the least  importance, and he walked towards her, holding it in her direction. She looked at it and blinked in  confusion a few times before finally looking at him.

  
Of course, she seemed startled, but she did well at hiding it. His blue skin, his red eyes and his royal scar  marks would have that effect on them for a very long time. Not too long ago, those features were used  to frighten children in stories and the Jotun did their best to use them to their advantage to inflict fear  onto the Asgardians during their many battles.  It rested on Loki to dispel those preconceptions and not only those. It was unfair, he thought briefly,  that such a burden should sit on the shoulders of a child as himself.  
 But he was not a child anymore, was he not?

  
“This is for you, Astrid. In Jotunheim it is customary to give a jewel to one’s closest servants.” He said,  remembering how the Queen had given Sigge his first ankle bracelet when Loki was but a baby, and  how Loki had given Sigge a few other ankle bracelets and jewels he had, through the years.  
“Oh…” Astrid smiled “It is beautiful, my Prince, but we are not… _allowed_ to receive such gifts here.” She  said. Her smile made her even more beautiful, putting dimples in her cheeks and Loki thought he almost  saw a blush of embarrassment on her face. As close as he was to her now, he noticed tiny freckles across  her nose, cheeks and forehead. 

Her beauty was in her simplicity and in how the curves of her face created a profile with a button nose,  high cheekbones and full lips. This was the model of the woman Loki’s husband, Thor of Asgard, would  sleep with and have bastard children with, before and after their union. Children Loki would have to deal with in one way or another, perhaps even kill, as the need dictated. These were things he had to consider and think about before they came about to be.   
Loki wanted to touch her amber colored hair, but resisted the urge, pulling back his hand and placing the ring back on his finger.

  
“I did not know of such rules.” He twisted the ring around his finger in a nervous gesture and then  looked back up at Astrid. She was just a little taller than he, everyone seemed to be taller than he was,  though. “If you wish to assist me from now on, I would appreciate it if you would make me aware of  these palace rules you have. Where I am from, of course, we go by things quite differently. Can you do  that for me?” he asked, he _beguiled_ , making his shoulders smaller, his smile meeker.

Servant girls were  not very different in any realm they were from – most of them were gossipy and all of them wanted a  chance to prove themselves. Some also had big, naive hearts, easily swayed by those who seemed that needed saving.  Astrid had both pulled the short stick with him as well as the long one – he was a stranger she was most  likely not fond of, but he was a royal none the less and would be royal consort shortly.  
If he could draw her in somehow, he’d have a direct line to a lot of information.

  
“Of course, my Prince. I am, of course, not aware of all the royal protocols, but I can help with a lot of  other things.” She replied, more or less enthusiastic. Loki gave her the sweetest smile he could muster,  fidgeting with his hands, making himself appear confused and anxious. Which he was, he truly was, but  not in the soft, sensitive way he was presenting himself to her. To her, he had to be a meek character, perhaps  a bit of a victim. He could do that.  
“Thank you, Astrid. You see, I am quite nervous about the banquet tonight and if you could tell me who  will be invited and point me to them so I don’t make any blunders, I would be very grateful.”  
“Of course, my Prince.”  
“Very well then. You may sit down here, with me, and tell me things.” Loki pointed at the golden round table near a mirror almost as big as the upper part of the wall.

 

The table had been filled with fruit and various sweets, which Loki had not touched. It also had mead in nicely looking bottles, but Loki had not touched those either. He’d never been allowed to drink more than a small glass of the strong Jotun liquor, and he wanted to have his wits about him at the banquet. 

Astrid looked around undecided for a moment, before she walked towards the table and sat down, hands in her lap. Loki poured two glasses for each of them. Water in his own, and mead in hers. He obscured the pouring behind the bowl of fruit, so she would not know they were not drinking the same thing.  
“Tell me about life in his wonderful palace, Astrid.” He asked, handing her a glass.

  
Oh, the things he had to do.  
The many faces he had to wear.  
May the Norns give him strength, he hoped they weaved his life with strong threads.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

  
 Of course, he was offered Asgardian clothes. After he had taken his fill of Astrid’s advices and asked to  be left alone to rest, they had started to arrive.  Of course, they had been delivered in piles inside his quarters, stacks of them on the sofa, on the chairs,  in all the available chests.

  
Loki rubbed the fabrics between his fingers, much, much too light, much too thin for his tastes but so  beautiful in their simplicity. He brushed his fingers past them as he walked across the rooms, from one  corner to another, passing under the arches that led from his bedroom to another open room that was  sparsely but tastefully decorated. 

There was so much space, space around him and above him, and he did not know where to run to, in  order to find a safe space for himself.  
 He missed the corners of his palace, the coziness of his rooms, all the things he had collected and had been given, statuettes, heavy curtains shielding his bed from the daylight, heavy carpets, oh, those heavy and lush carpets his bare feet sunk into all the way to his ankles.

 He missed the eclectic spaces of his teachers, rooms filled to the brim with books and decorations from all across the Nine Realms. The Asgardian places were cursed with a serenity of spirit that did not speak to Loki’s heart. They held no secrets, and promised nothing to learn. Everything was right there, on the table. There was nothing up Asgard’s sleeve to wait on, not in those rooms.

  
 He spent a long time brushing his fingers past the walls, pas the fabrics of the Asgardian clothes, before  he took off his own and went towards his own chest, colored in ochre, blue and deep red, and  rummaged for a set of robes he had packed in himself.  
Loki did not remove his rings, he did not take off his massive necklace.

He took all of his clothes off  instead, slipping out of the robes by just letting them drop on the floor with a swift pull at a hidden  chord that kept them together. He hated how cold the marble felt beneath his feet and missed his  carpets, many as they were and all of them in different colors and patterns, thrown about his rooms.

  
 Loki caught a glimpse of himself in the massive mirror in his bedroom and watched his own form curiously, as if he had not seen it in a very long time. Still too short for his age, his horns barely as long as his pinky finger. He resisted the urge to touch them. Every time he did, they did nothing but remind him of how less of a Jotun he was. 

His mother’s horns had grown so large they had curled over the top of her head and formed a symmetrical, curly shape around her head more fitting than any crown. She used to adorn them with gold clasps and threads of gold attached to jewels.

Loki remembered watching her fight with another Jotun giantess warrior, how they locked horns together with a hollow sound. How mesmerized he had been at that display of force, the sheer violence of it, the breathtaking beauty of their fight. 

  
Loki had almost nothing of hers. Maybe her eyes. Maybe something in the thin line of his lips that spoke vaguely of a cold, cruel character still in development. His shoulders were small. His body was lithe.  
He pressed his fingers over the scarification over his chest and belly, marks he got as a baby, from a time he did not remember the pain that must have come with them.

  
His cock hung limp to the side of his thigh, the blue of his skin turning just a little pink at the tip. Under it, the pinker folds of his female parts blossomed, soft and partially obscured. There had been Kings in Jotun history, much like him, whose bodies had refused to take the female form. But almost all of them had ruled for a short time, until their younger sisters or cousins were handed the title.

  
Would his mother give birth to a better Jotun now that he was gone? Or was his father’s blood so strong the next child would have the same outcome? Who _cared_ anymore?  
The Jotunheim throne was not his anymore.  
 It probably _never had been_.

  
 The sun was disappearing behind the mountains, so time would come soon to join the banquet,  probably resentfully made in his honor, and acquaint himself with the ladies and gents of the court.  Enemies, all of them, he was sure. He had to leave melancholy aside and stay alert.  But he could not do it wearing their clothes. Their clothes held no power, not like the power Jotun  fabrics did, the way they felt heavy on the skin, the way the hard jewelry made your every movement  wider, more set on intent, on gesture.

  
He slipped inside an ochre robe, tied at the waist with a deep red sash which had been sewn with Jotun patterns in green and blue. The pants that accompanied the tunic-collared robe were loose and comfortable and tied above the ankle, so his ankle bracelet could be seen, as well as his feet. He placed a dark red scarf around his shoulders, after placing his necklace in view across his chest and let his black hair fall loose over his shoulders, by releasing it from the loose bun he had kept it in since that morning, when it had to stay beneath his headdress. 

It fell in lazy curls as far as his shoulder blades and he let it. It was his mother’s legacy, all black hair in the long line of Jotunheim royal matriarchs, and it had always been her pride. Hers was curlier though, and it went all the way down to her knees. Loki had never seen it all the way down except once when he was very young and had rushed into her rooms without knocking. 

She had slapped him very hard for it, but the image of her in her night dress, swallowed by her dark tendrils, had stuck in his memory.

  
He wrapped one lock between his finger as he thought of that, then released it absently, placing his hands in front of himself. He gave them a good shake, making the bracelets jingle, setting them back down around his wrists. Thin wrists they were. He had never been a strong fighter, but he had always been swift. And most of all, he had been smarter than the burl and brawl attitude his opponents offered.

It was the woman fighters, the smaller ones, that had mostly bested him in combat. He learned from them the most. They were among the few of his kin, his mother's royal guard, who had looked upon him with true reverence and respect. They had loved to teach him to fight and one of them in particular, had loved to tell him stories. Loki missed them, those warrior women that were also scholars and healers.

  
He flicked his wrists at the same time, and two golden daggers, inlaid with jade, appeared in his palms, and he gripped them tight, for confirmation. His magic worked here as well as it did on Jotunheim.  Loki doubted anyone would try to kill him that night out of all nights, but, as his mother had always said, it paid to be cautious. He flicked his hands once more and they disappeared into thin air.

  
 He let the scarf hang loose on the furthermost part of his head, and pinned it to the hair with a small set  of golden studs specifically designed for that purpose.  Afterwards, he took out the metal mask that went in a line above his eyebrows and covered his nose  and upper lip in a half hill-like shape. It was covered in gold and vibrant green designs, studded with green  gems in the shapes of leaves.

At each end, where the golden thread went behind his ears to tie at the  back, it had a long line of gems attached to it, that hung all the way down to his chest and made a  pleasant sound when he moved.  He had always worn it at banquets and the many dances they held within the castle as well as outside it.

  
His mother’s was much more impressive, so heavily decorated with precious gems and gold, so thick  with threads of jewelry it took two Jotun to put it on. It was a work of an ancient mask artist that had  been passed on through generations of Queens and the occasional King that peppered their mostly  matriarchal royal history.  Loki had always looked forward to the day when he would be wearing it.  
But that hope was gone now.

  
 As expected, Astrid knocked at his door, just as he was putting his mask on.  
She entered with a gasp of surprise.  
“I’m sorry my Prince, I was just… surprised.”  
“Not to worry. It’s a customary piece I wear at events. Do you think people will hate it?”  
“It is not my place to say.”  
“Say it anyway.” Loki waved his hand in her direction. She was just a little older than he was, but she  seemed much younger in the way her hesitation was mixed in with her forwardness. Her cheeks were  still red from the mead they (she) had earlier.  
“Well, my Prince, they might find it strange. In Asgard we do not quite fancy covering our faces.”  
“A shame. People speak so much more truthfully when they wear masks.” Loki said, but offered her a  smile, then tied the mask around his head and looked at her from between the bejeweled metal “Was  there any reason you came here?”

  
“I…” she looked at him partially entranced, half strangely scared, before she found her wits “Yes, I  wanted to help you get ready for the banquet, but I see you do not require my assistance.”  
“No and I never will. I will always dress and undress myself. That is my request.”  
“As you wish, my Prince.”  
“Very well,” Loki said, straightening his shoulders “let us go. Lead me to the banquet hall, Astrid.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
 Loki did not know the feast was already in the early stages by the time he got there.  
They did not even wait on him.  
But what did he expect? They were going to show their disregard for him in subtle ways, if they could  not do it openly, for fear of shattering the truce.  Loki stood at the far end of the columns, half hidden in the shadows, and took in the scene, and the people filling it.

  The hall hosted a huge fire in the middle, where meats were still being roasted, and it smelled like warm  bread, seeds, honey and charred meat. It was a pleasant smell, through overpowering for the first few  minutes. There were long rows of tables filled with noble-looking men and women, while others looked  like warriors about to pick up a fight at any moment.

  
 All the tables were filled with bread and fruit and meat.  
 At the far end, on a table set much higher, as to oversee the entire hall, framed by a golden semi-circle,  were seated the Frigga the Queen, to Odin’s right side, as Prince Thor stood at his left side, discussing  animatedly with three other people seated at the table under his own.  The seat next to him, where Loki would sit, was empty and the golden plate was placed in front of it, as  empty as the cup next to it.

  
Odin was exchanging words with his wife, and she was smiling at him a smile that was not her own, but  he took it none the less, oblivious of it, Loki noticed. Frigga was a woman who Loki had planned to keep  an eye on. No Queen was so respected without her being able to juggle secrets and gossip, maneuver  the court to her will and manipulate outcomes. Loki had grown up with such a woman as a mother, only  his mother was far more imposing than Frigga and her presence demanded not only respect but also  fear.

  
Frigga seemed much too kind and gentle in appearance to command fear.

  
Thor shined in the fire light though. Much like his mother, he radiated in the golden lights. He’d barely  made an effort with his hair – he’d perched it up in a knot on the back of his head and probably just  forgot about it. Shorter strands of hair fell over his forehead and stuck to his cheeks.

There was an air of  naïve vitality about him that Loki almost found endearing.  He was a truly beautiful young man, as radiant things that grow in the sun usually are. But he could not let himself be ‘ _endeared_ ’, by Thor or anyone else. It was not why he was there.

Loki did not want to step into the banquet hall, but he really did not have a choice.

 

  His mind traveled among hidden chests and drawers, until he found something he considered appropriate, the personality he would wear, the characteristics he would portray to have. He found his tone of voice and he found an appropriate posture and as he chose it, this new skin, he let it settle all over him, within the timespan of one long inhale, one long exhale.

It was not something new - he had been expected to behave a certain way in different company and it was not once that his mother had placed him among the strangest guests at the palace, just to test his behavior. After it was done, he would be called in her rooms, no matter how tired he was or how early he had to wake up the next day, and be scolded or praised on his behavior, and given advice on improvements.

Loki took a deep breath and made the decision to not treat the banquet as any different. He nodded in the direction of the door and Astrid went ahead and spoke to the guards placed there. They slammed the bottoms of their spears onto the ground.

“Consort-to-be, Loki of Jotunheim!” They announced, in unison, then slammed their spears again, just once, and pulled open the heavy oak door. Loki barely managed to not scrunch up his nose at the word. _Consort_. That was all they were reducing him to, the title of someone who is just the companion of someone in power.

What a waste, a waste for them, these Asgardians, who would not take him for the King, or the Queen he could have been.  It was fine.  If he was not afraid, as he knew he was deep down inside, he could turn the tide somehow. Somehow. _Somehow_.

Until then, all he had to do was go through with this entire mess.

 All his life, he had been scrutinized and tested. There was absolutely no reason for him not to assume the same thing of the banquet and _damn them all to hell_ as he continued doing what he had been brought up to do.

 

 Loki stepped out from the doorway, as all eyes in the banquet hall turned in his direction. There were murmurs here and there, but they all kept their words to themselves and in between each other. Loki went down the set of three stairs that led him onto the hall and walked among the rows of tables. His bare feet welcomed the comfort of the thin rug that had been placed in the midst of the tables. 

“Rise, Asgardians, for the Prince’s Consort!” A voice rumbled through the hall. It was Frigga’s, and she not as much asked them to, as she was commanding them to. In between screeches of wooden benches and the sound of cutlery clinking together, Loki walked. He fixed his eyes in Odin’s direction, without looking directly at him, he just used his figure as a fixed point to look towards, so his steps would not falter.

Even so, he could see their faces in the corner of his eye. They definitely did not like the mask, and the looks in their eyes were wary. Perhaps he had been pushing his luck, considering his blue skin had always been a sign of danger for them. But this was his tradition, this was _who he was_. The mask did not mean he was hiding anything, on the contrary. But how would those straightforward Asgardians ever understand the Jotun subtleties? Would they ever even try, if Loki would offer to explain and educate?

 

 He did not believe it for one moment.

  
He looked at Frigga when he reached the royal table and they exchanged just a short glance, perhaps of understanding, Loki could not tell. But this Queen, she obviously was not completely set against him. That was good, he could use that.  
“Welcome, child.” Odin spoke in his direction, measuring him up and down in a similar manner as earlier that day. He disapproved of him, perhaps of his choice of clothing. “May I ask what is the meaning of the mask you are wearing? Is this another Jotun tradition we should be aware of?”  
“It is simply something we wear to celebrations.” Loki said, somehwhat half true. This was not the time to educate Odin on the subtleties of the Jotun “That is all, my King.”  
“I see.” he nodded. Odin did not ask him to remove it, but Loki felt it in his voice, the accusation. He also noticed Frigga’s hand, gently pressing on her husband’s arm for a moment, before releasing him. A movement too subtle to be noticed by everyone but whose meaning Loki saw through.  
_Let him be,_ it said, _all these things will be discussed later on_.  
  
“Let us drink and feast in the honor of the Prince’s Consort, Asgardians, and rejoice in the peaceful times ahead of us!” Odin took his cup and raised it to the skies “To Loki Laufeyjarson!”  
Everyone chanted Loki’s name following Odin’s words, and did their best to sound joyful. Loki did not appreciate their efforts, but looked over his shoulder and offered them a smile none the less. Astrid was already behind the seat where he was supposed to be in, and she beckoned him with a movement of her head that he could walk up to the table and sit next to Thor.  
  
 The most burdensome part of the banquet was about to start, then.  
Loki walked up with his scarf trailing behind him so low it almost touched the ground, and sat down next to Thor.

  
Astrid poured mead in his cup as Thor turned his head in Loki’s direction. He gulped down some mead himself, loss as to what to say obvious in his gestures. The three he had been talking to before, two men and a young woman with dark hair, were pretending to talk among themselves while they peered occasionally in their direction. Thor’s closest friends, perhaps.

They would asses Loki and gossip the next day about him. Loki quickly assessed them as well, and only noted the young woman looked the same age as Thor and that she might be a problem in the future, but not yet. She was still too inexperienced and she seemed still too green behind the ears, in spite of her efforts to mingle in with all the men around the table.  
  
There were others there, other women, women Loki heard stories about, Valkyries they were called, who had given the Jotun female warriors good fights throughout the ages. They looked like how the girl at the table was hoping to look and perhaps would, in the future.Strong they were, and their faces were clear cut in the forge of battles and their eyes were shining with determination.

  
There had been a story circulating the Jotunheim palace that once, a Valkyrie and a Jotun warrior giantess had fought so fiercely, days and days they had fought, one unable to best the other, and so impressed they were with each other’s spirit that they fell in love and ran away together.

It was just a story the servant women sometimes spoke of and Loki had always liked it because it made him think that, perhaps, if the spirits of two people complemented each other, their differences would be set aside.

  
“How do you find Asgard so far, Prince Loki?” Thor was the first one to speak between them, taking Loki by surprise with it. His voice was deeper than Loki expected.  
“I’ve yet to see more of it, but I find it very beautiful, to say the least, my Prince.”  
“Is it very different from Jotunheim?”  
“Extremely.”  
“In a good way or a bad way?”  
“Just different, my Prince. Not good or bad in any way.” Loki offered, finally gathering the courage to look up at him while he took hold of his mead cup. Thor’s cheeks were a little red and there was a sparkle in his eye, typical of those who were on their way to having a bit too much to drink. If his husband was to be a happy, chatty drunk, Loki could definitely work easily with that. He was very pleasant to look at, so having a happy drunkard for a husband who is also pretty would not be the worst of fates.

  
“You are very young.”  
Loki nodded “I am. But I am very well educated none the less.”  
“It’s not what I meant. I just meant that you are a child.”  
Loki clenched his teeth but did not bait to it “I am only a few hundred years younger than you, my Prince. It is considered a good enough age to even go into war, so it should not be considered less of an age to go into a union either.”  
  
 Thor put his elbow on the table and leaned in just a bit closer to Loki, who did not give an inch. He held his back and shoulders straight, with just a bit of a slouch so as not to appear too arrogant. Was Thor going to say something rude to him? He seemed to be wanting to speak something for Loki's ears only.   
“Can you just call me Thor?” he asked him in a low voice “Considering we are supposed to… you know…. be husband and-and husband, I guess.”  
Loki cleared his throat “I can, of course, but not in the presence of so many people.”  
“The people won’t think any less of any of us. This is an already unusual of a situation as it is.”  
“I understand. I will try to.”  
Loki would _definitely not_.

  
Thor offered him a smile that was supposed to be reassuring but it only looked fake and a little dumb.  
“I suppose we can start this evening with you telling me some things about yourself.” Loki said.  
“Of course. But you can also tell me why do the Jotun enjoy wearing so many masks.”  
“I don’t really understand your question.”  
Thor tilted his head to the side just a bit, as if he was trying to find exactly what he meant,“I mean, what are you trying to hide?”

  
Loki’s body language, the way he tilted back just a little was something he did involuntarily and he cursed himself for it “What is that supposed to mean?” he blurted out. He had to pace himself, otherwise he would end up saying something stupid.  
“I did not mean to offend.” Thor held his palms up in front of Loki and gave him that dumb and pretty smile again.   
Of course, of course he had not. He seemed _terribly tactful_.  
  
“It is simply deeply engrained in our tradition,” Loki offered, clearing his throat “the putting and removal of the masks is deeply symbolic. The Jotun believe one has many faces and it is not considered conceited to be as such. It is actually encouraged. This way you can present yourself to the world in a respectful manner in any situation, depending on what mask you chose to wear. Back in ancient times, the Jotun wore different, actual masks, everywhere, except in their homes, where only their husband or wife could see them as they truly were. But those are ancient things, we do not do that anymore.”

  
Thor frowned in confusion, apparently forgetting all about the banquet and the food before him “So-so, how did the two people fall in love if they could not actually know how the other one truly was?”  
“You understood that through very subtle things, of course. The way they chose their words, the way they moved, the way-”  
“The way they moved?”  
“Y-yes. Even the way one wears jewelry is a means to show their character. The way they arrange their bracelets to make sounds, or the rings they choose, the earrings and the subtle ways they move when the person talks or moves their heads.”  
“It all sounds terribly complicated. Prone to misunderstandings.”  
“Not if you are a Jotun it is not.”  
  
 Thor seemed to actually weight Loki’s words carefully, and sipped some more mead. He rested his cheek in his fist, staring into nothing for a few long moments, with Loki looking at him almost perplexed, trying to understand what exactly he was doing, just spacing out like that in the middle of a conversation.

  
“This union of ours, it will be complicated.” he said, out of the blue. Loki frowned. He would be insulted now, or something akin to that, and he had to brace to take it.  
Thor turned to Loki, his temple resting now on his knuckles instead of his cheek “You are very subtle and I am very loud.”

  
Loki stood motionless for a moment, processing his words. Then the corners of Thor’s lips curled up, twitching just a bit in the process and Loki could not help himself, though the Norns knew he really tried to in that moment, but they both burst into laughter. Loki had not laughed out loud in a very long time, and he heard himself echoing through the hall, side by side with the deep rumble of Thor’s own laughter.  
  
Both the King and Queen, as well as the nearest guests turned in their direction when they heard such an unusual sound, witnessed such a sudden display. If Loki would have paid attention, he would have seen the look Odin gave the back of Thor’s head, a look of such dismissive disapproval that would mean repercussions onto Thor later on that night.

  
But he didn’t, his vision filled with just the tipsy, red-cheeked young man before him.  
  
It was only for a moment, a very short moment through that very long night Loki had to endure, where he had been just himself, even while still wearing his mask.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if anyone is still reading this, considering it took forever for me to update with a new chapter,to say the least, but here it is.
> 
> Please let me know what you think or would like to read more of in this story in the comments, I always take into consideration ideas from the readers. 
> 
> I was listening to a lot of traditional Persian, Iranian and some Andalusian music while writing this and I recommend Chris Spheeris - Magaya for the garden scene, if you feel like it.
> 
> I hope you will enjoy it and thank you for baring with me for so long. Hopefully I will finish this faster and you can enjoy the full story at an even pace.

 

 _Spring and all its flowers_  
_now joyously break their vow of silence._  
_It is time for celebration, not for lying low;_  
_You too -- weed out those roots of sadness from your heart._

\- **Hafiz**

 

 

  In dreams and memories things always have the quality of looking much better than they had ever been in reality but even so, Loki was sure that the long convoys over the frozen lands of his homeland had always looked like that.  
The Jotuns rarely left the comfort of their own palaces but when they did, especially the likes of his family, they traveled in long convoys, usually to watch the skies. Loki remembered the Long Night like it was yesterday - an event that happened only once a few centuries when a tear happened in the fabric of space and time and the sky was filled with color and with countless stars and galaxies that did not exist in the reality of their realm.

Sometimes planets merged and destroyed each other when that happened and the Jotun were witnesses to the silent destruction of worlds they had never seen, with a front seat to the spectacle of life and death. There were festivities to precede the Long Night - mammoth fires were lit up on the high peaks of the mountains surrounding the frozen lake they had placed their tents on.

But what Loki remembered best was the long way to the mountains, to the Mouth Of The Goddess, as they were called. Legend went that the four peaks were the teeth of the Mother, the mother of all Jotun creation, the greatest giantess of them all. She’d become Jotunheim itself, coiling and twisting her limbs around herself, before she created the Jotuns and all other life on their world. Loki had climbed up one of the peaks back then, one of her _teeth_ and had watched the entire frozen valley under a red sunset; he could swear he’d heard a woman’s voice, resonating from the deep.

He remembered the way the ice shimmered in the sunlight of the long, frozen summer days and how their colorful convoy stood out on the backdrop of ice and snow.

 He was laying in his bed still, as he remembered all that, half asleep as he conjured a memory of snow, felt the cold wind swipe past his cheeks and he exhaled into it, breathed it in deeply. It did not sting like he knew it did in reality. So he opened his eyes.

He opened his eyes to golden sheets and marble floors. To trees heavy with fruit swaying in the eternal summer breeze outside his window. There was just an instant of shock before he remembered where he was and why, and how, the night before, the Asgardian drinks had made him a bit light-headed. Thor’s laughter resonated in his memories, full-bodied and hearty, just as strongly as Odin’s cold glances were.

The night seemed to go on forever but the food had been delicious. Though less sweet than what he was used to, delicious nonetheless and, in addition, Thor had kept Loki company to the best of his abilities, asking him questions about his homeland but sometimes ignoring him completely to take some time to talk with his friends from the nearest table. That has left Loki trying to look busy with his food or mead, though Astrid seemed to have taken pity on him and she leaned in from where she stood behind his chair to speak to him now and again. At least now Loki knew what mask to wear with her - the frightened, meek child consort. That was one down. A few hundreds more to go. He wondered if he had enough masks to use.

He stared into nothing for a while, welcoming the silence in his mind, a rare occurrence which he had now grown to welcome as a luxury. It did not last long though - his mind immediately went through the minute details of the night before and placed them in little boxes, reprimanded himself for some things, congratulated himself for others and made other notes to use later on.

Before getting in bed, he had placed his pillows from home all over his bed, in addition to the quilted and embroidered blankets in ochre and deep blue. All of them had been hand dyed and embroidered by himself, his mother and their servants throughout the years and they still carried that particular scent his room had. It would soon be gone, but his Asgardian bed was already too hard to sleep on and the golden sheets too thin, too slippery, light enough for him to feel like he was not touching anything at all.

Loki moved through the pile of pillows and blankets and slipped out of them, sitting on the edge of the bed, adjusting his eyes to the bright morning light. He could already feel the warmth of the day creeping through the room. It would take adjusting to.  
He walked to the golden basin near his bed and washed his face, pulled the curtains and opened the windows, leaning into the windowsill, taking in the garden.

His rooms were at the back of the castle, you had to go through a maze of arched corridors to reach that wing of the castle and Loki was not sure he’d be able to reach the main hall by himself, at least not at the moment, but he did have to start learning every nook and cranny of the place. _Surely_ , there was an exit, a window or a corridor one could easily slip through at any given time without being noticed.  
But such observations would take time.

At least he was separated from almost everyone and, for once, that did not bother Loki. He could have the quiet he liked. Now that he could finally catch his breath for a moment, he sat down on the windowsill and cast a long glance over the garden. It was filled with trees that hung heavy with apples and other fruit Loki could not recognize. Here and there, he could spot bushes overflowing with flowers and fountains, some marble benches, some pathways. Beyond the garden, more trees, some snowy peaks of distant mountains that were mostly lost to the mist.

Perhaps he would go one day. He had not been in Asgard for long enough to start missing the snow but he was sure it would not take too long. He had to be able to exert some soft of power, to be able to ask to go to a hunt in the mountains sometime. Surely they had some sort of game in Asgard he could hunt.

  
 Again, the image of his mother, this time hunting through the heavy trees of the fir forest, creeped in his mind. It had been more than one time that he saw her impaling some Jotunheim beast with her horns, blood running down them as she used her entire body to lift up the animal that was screaming in pain and trying to escape from the deadly embrace of her horns. The way that blood ran down her horns, onto her helmet, across her face and furs - Loki had watched in awe, held back by one of the women in her guard. Back then he’d been too young to realize he could not help his mother, she was large and strong enough to handle herself just fine.

Without thinking about it, his hand went up to his horns and he measured them up against his pinky finger. No, Loki, of course they had not grown overnight.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 It was later that day, after he had bathed and ate, that he was called on by the Queen herself. Astrid had come into his rooms baring an armful of Asgardian clothing from the Queen, which he subsequently ignored and he left them on the edge of the bed with a tightening in his heart. It was perhaps not a good idea to antagonize her but at the same time he did not want to give up on who he was, at least not yet.  
_Not like this_ , he thought as he followed Astrid to the Queen’s chambers, _not without a fight_.

Imagine his surprise when he walked inside the Queen’s quarters and he found not only Frigga but also Odin himself sitting at a large table, overseeing a map of the Nine Realms that floated and danced in colors above it.  
Frigga was standing up and she smiled at Loki as soon as he walked in while Odin did not even glance in his direction as he stood in a great golden chair and kept watching the planets and galaxies dance in front of his eyes.  
“Loki,” Frigga said, stretching an arm towards him, showing him to one of the nearest chairs “I trust you slept well?”  
“Yes, my Queen. My chambers are beautiful and very quiet.”  
“Good, good, I-”  
“Why are you not wearing the clothes my wife has been sending you?” Odin interrupted, leaning back in his chair and finally looking at him. He measured Loki up and down with his one eye as if he was seeing right through him. Loki avoided looking at him directly.  
“The fabric feels strange on my skin, my King.” he offered. Somewhat true, mostly a lie, but how would he know anyway? Odin knew nothing of his kin’s culture or traditions or their bodies, save for the fact their blood was blue. 

Odin, in turn, just offered a sarcastic grunt as Frigga sat down at her own chair and dispelled the map with just a turn of her hand, giving Odin a clear view of Loki.  
“We have called you here so early because we must speak to you about your role from now on. I will be overseeing you, of course,” Frigga said “and there are protocols we adhere to and rules we stick to. You are by no means a prisoner, but at the same time, this is a fragile truce we have made and, after all, you _have_ been sent to _us -_ ”

“What my wife is trying to say is one mistake of yours can shatter the entire peace.” Odin interrupted “We don’t want you here any more than you want to be here, but neither of us had much of a choice” he continued, with Frigga’s eyes following him, shimmering with silent disapproval. But Odin did not look in their direction at all and he got up from his chair and slowly walked around the table “I don’t want your blood mixed with ours, but so have the powers that be decided and we cannot stand against them. I’ll allow your clothes and your trinkets, but rest assured your masks and habits out in the open like last night, will not stand.”

 He approached Loki and Loki did his best to now cower under his presence - even the air around him felt strangely heavy, as if loaded with metal.  
“Don’t take us to be weak or stupid just because we agreed to this,” he said, leaning into Loki’s ear so close he could smell him, his scent like melted gold and burning embers and the moss-covered branches of Yggdrasil “assimilate and be grateful for what you’re given. It’s more than your lot deserves.”  
And with that, he straightened his back, as if he had not shoved sharp daggers into Loki’s chest with his mere presence alone. And Loki yelled at himself inside his mind because he had to take it without a word, reminded as he was, by the consequences his future actions might have.  
“Odin.” Frigga’s voice cut through the room, cut through that scent and through the heavy blanket that seemed to cover both Odin and those around him. He did not apologize, but exchanged a look with his wife which Loki did not catch, before he left the room without a word.

It was Frigga who approached Loki after the door had closed - she towered above him in her golden corset and her hand eventually rested on his naked shoulder, the first touch he ever received from an Asgardian - the Queen’s hand, warm and soft.  
“You must forgive him, Loki. And think not much of it. He has fought many wars.” she said, and Loki’s eyes followed that hand all the way up to her face, her eyes as warm as her hands, a face with a smile she tried to make real. Loki appreciated the effort regardless “His heart… he will not be touched by your presence, _regardless of how kind you might be_ , too soon. I will not lie to you about that, because you don’t seem like the kind of person who takes easy to being lied to.”

 Loki just nodded. What was he supposed to do? Say thank you? Or...might as well.  
“Thank you.” he muttered, trying to make it sound like he had not said it through grit teeth. Frigga took it though, and her arm slid from his shoulder down to his elbow, urging him up gently.  
“Come, Loki. Sit with me. We must discuss of other things. Though you will become my son’s consort, it does not mean this is where it all ends for you, darling.” she sat Loki at the table and, without even a word uttered, one of her servants walked inside and brought them golden plates filled with honey and seed bread. There was yogurt with mint and small pies that smelled like roses, alongside dark tea with black lotus blossoms floating in the cups.  
After the servant girl left, Frigga helped herself to a cup and dipped her seed bread in honey.

“I have heard great many things about Jotun magic,” she began, setting an instant knot in Loki’s stomach. He reached for a cup too, but said nothing “and I was wondering if it was something you were acquainted with at all?”  
“We all are, a little. But not all have the gift.” Loki replied simply.  
“Isn’t the Queen’s child usually endowed with the gift? I believe your mother is not only a great fighter but also a great sorceress.”  
“True, she is” Loki nodded, sipping the tea. It was much sweeter than he had initially assumed it would “but my father is Aesir, when I was born, I did not inherit much of her power because of it. As is the case with a lot of other things, such as my horns.”  
“Well, do you think you would like to learn Asgardian magic?” Frigga asked, this time from somewhere else in the room. But she was sitting right in front of him, sipping her tea!

Loki turned around in his seat and saw Frigga standing next to the window, wearing the same clothes, smiling at him with the taste of her question still lingering on her lips. He turned around and, clear as day, Frigga was there. As if to spare him the effort of turning around, the other Frigga walked to the table and stood next to the other one, serving herself a piece of seed bread at the same time. They were both smiling at him.  
No one that Loki knew of back home had the knowledge on how to make such a thing happen, he didn’t know what to say.  
“Real as day, Loki.” The standing Frigga said, touching his hand and truly, he felt nothing but her warm, soft hand on his own, the same way he’d felt it on his shoulder earlier.  
“Could you teach me this?” he asked, eyes shimmering with excitement.

 Both Friggas looked at each other and smiled, before their amber eyes returned to Loki.  
“That remains to be seen, depends how gifted you are.” The sitting Frigga said.  
“You see, Loki, as a consort, though you might have some duties, you also have a lot of free time to pursue other endeavors as you see fit,” the standing Frigga continued “in the meantime, there will be tutors for you - you will learn the Asgardian language and writing, court etiquette, you will, of course, learn so many other boring and mundane things but in return I can give you this, if you care to learn it.”  
“I very much would, my Queen!” Loki replied, perhaps more excitedly than he intended. But who was he to refuse such a generous gift, perhaps the most generous gift of all - _knowledge_?  
Perhaps Frigga thought she was making him a favor simply by keeping him busy with a common interest, but to Loki this was knowledge and any knowledge equaled more power over others, more power he could use to continue on his path safely.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
  
 He had been at the palace for over a week already, rushed from one room to another, from one meeting to another, Frigga showing him around to all the lords and ladies whose names Loki tried to commit to memory best as he could but which escaped from the confines of his bored mind too fast for comfort. He felt like a mere curiosity to them and perhaps that is what he was at the end of the day - most of those people never fought in the war, they’d never seen the Jotun’s fury up close, so what could they think of a Jotun child barely a step into his adolescence?

As for Thor, he had seen him during the court meetings and they nodded at each other but were always so far apart they never got to speak. Soon enough, Thor would disappear and, according to Astrid’s words ‘go cause trouble somewhere’ - Loki never saw him last all the way to the end of a court meeting or hearing.

Loki in the meantime met his tutors, who would teach him history and the Asgardian language and who knows what else. He did not mind it, but it was the sessions with Frigga that he was looking most forward to, and those would depend on her own duties.

 When he woke up that morning, his head was still buzzing with the first words of Asgardian and the mead he’d head the night before, to help him sleep. When everyone could talk in Allspeak easily why was there a need to - nevermind.  
He rubbed his eyes as he turned on the other side, facing the window from between all his pillows and blankets that had since lost the smell of home. Another bright and sunny morning. He could hear a faint breeze through the trees, rusting the heavy leaves.

 Loki closed his eyes and summoned up an image, an image more like a feeling: the sound of the white bark trees in the morning light and the way their golden leaves glittered like gold in the sun. Endless they were, those forests. When he opened his eyes next, he made them appear in the room, an illusion clear as day, neverending trees with white bark and golden leaves, stretching into forever.

  
 Everyone assumed what was commonly known as winter was the only thing on Jotunheim. Easy to think so, since no traveler or intruder had crossed their realm in many hundreds of centuries, but it was not entirely true. The Jotuns called it Sun Season, because all the trees of the mountain forests where the palace was located would bloom into life with leaves that turned quickly from vivid green to burning gold and would last so long into Moon Season, when the snows would start to cover the plains and they would return to hunt in the fir forests at higher altitudes.

Loki had spent many days walking through the golden sea of trees by himself, feet digging so deep into the moss it felt like walking on clouds. Sometimes he would take his cape along and a book and he would sit somewhere in a tree or rest among the great roots of a tree and read until he would fall asleep. He would then wake up with cheeks red from the sun and his limbs somewhat stiff from the tree roots but well rested and he could even dare to say, _happy_.

Loki got up from the bed, the trees disappearing one by one as he walked past them and walked to the window, watching the Asgardian trees sing in the wind. He’d slept with just his usual light gown on, it was see-through, made out of the silk of worms that only lived on Jotunheim. The fabric shimmered in the light, almost like an afterthought; most of the times he preferred to just sleep naked altogether, because his sheets and blankets felt nice and heavy on his body. The Asgardian ones on the other hand, made him feel like there were cold, slithery animals crawling all over him. It was normal, he thought - in such a warm climate people wanted to feel cool, but his skin reacted strangely to them.

He’d have to get used to it all, but in time. He'll have to get used to a lot of things. There will most likely be no happiness there for him. 

Happy would Loki wake up in the golden forest, just to hear Sigge call out his name, to get him to return to the confines of the castle, under the heavy hand of his mother. It had not been just once that Loki had considered running into the mountains. But he was to be the consort. The consequences of his actions would tip the balance terribly.

He let out a sigh and moved away from the window, banishing away the image of the golden trees from his mind when a knock on the door startled him away from his thoughts. He let out an annoyed grunt and looked over his shoulder at the door:  
“Please return later on, Astrid!” he said. But instead, the door opened and none other than Thor himself poked his head from beyond it.

 Loki froze when their eyes locked and so did Thor and what was worse is that he did not even move away or considered closing the door, he just stood there as Loki felt his blood go all the way up to his ears. Thor did not look any better, yet he still did not move and Loki’s voice broke out before he could control himself.  
“At least turn around!” he yelled and as soon as the sound left his mouth, his hands covered his lips as if they spoke with a mind of their own, the sound of all the rings and bracelets he’d worn to bed clinking together in a startled sound. Thor awkwardly did turn around at the sound of his voice, almost hitting himself in the doorway as he did so.  
“I’m-I’m sorry, I thought you said to come in!” he said, in fast succession.  
“How could you hear-” Loki took a very short intake of breath as he balled his hands into fists by his sides, and composed himself “I apologize, my Prince, I, perhaps, was not been loud enough. These rooms are much taller than the ones I am used to, sound travels differently.” he said, perhaps a bit stupidly. He didn’t know what else to say that would be nice and polite and not him screaming at the future Asgardian King.

 He reached out towards the bed and grabbed one of his ochre, hand-knitted blankets, richly decorated with vivid greens and light blue motifs that represented the Jotun forests on the backdrop of a luminous sunset sky. It was thin enough to put it over his shoulder and around his waist. It fell around him in a large pool of color but it was the closest thing he could grab, lest he makes the Prince wait in the doorway while he gets dressed.  
“I’m dressed now,” he announced “You can turn around.”

In the short second it took Thor to turn around Loki was already standing at the foot of the bed, hands cradled one into the other, shoulder and back straight, as if he was not wrapped in the blanket he slept under but in royal garments, at the foot of his throne. It took Thor a moment to get that image out of his head.  
“We’re going to be married anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.” Loki continued “But for the time being…” his words got lost so he just made a loose gesture with his right hand that could have meant anything.  
“Appearances?” Thor offered, with a toothy half grin. Loki took it.  
“Appearances.”  
“I hate that word. And all that it implies.”  
Loki opened his mouth to reply but he didn’t know what to say, so he changed the subject.

“Without me risking being rude - what are you doing here, my Prince?”  
“Well…” Thor finally walked in completely and closed the door behind him. He was simply dressed - just a tan tunic and pants, his hair had been tied in a bun behind his head so loosely there were strands everywhere. Loki had to fight the urge to touch it and do the bun again, properly “Almost everyone is still asleep, because of last night's banquet. I mean you and mother retreated to your rooms and most of the ladies as well, but we stayed waaay into the night so no one is going to be up any time soon. I was wondering if you would like to eat with me?”  
“Oh.”  
“If you prefer to eat in your rooms that is understandable as well.”  
“Why would that be?”  
“I believe…” Thor rubbed his chin but did not move any closer to him. Loki had only seen him stand far away from him, never this close, or if they were close, they were usually seated and usually one higher or lower than the other and Loki did not get a feeling of just how tall and wide Thor was, when compared to him. Now, when they were both at even level, it was obvious “I believe I have not made the best impression the first night and I didn't get to see you a lot since. I mean, alone. You see, I’ve been drinking for most of the evening before you came in that night.”  
“Oh. Why is that?”  
“I-what?”  
“Was it because you’re to marry a Jotun?” Loki asked, while at the same time his throat and stomach constricted. He should know better than to ask these kind of things but wasn’t his tongue the reason why he got hit so often back home? _Moon-tongue_ , his mother called him, because sure as the Moon was to rise in the skies, just as soon would his tongue bring out the worst in him.  
“What? No. Well, perhaps, a little. I don’t know. I’ll leave, I didn’t mean to -”  
“I’ll go.” Loki took it back just as fast “I’ll eat with you. If you could give me some time to get dressed.”

 

 

* * *

 

  
 

 Loki thought he would go to a large hall with empty chairs and a lonely table, but instead Thor showed him a spot beyond some trees, in the garden, from the window of his rooms, saying he will wait for him there. Loki glanced up at Thor from the corner of his eyes as he was talking. He was only reaching Thor’s elbow, at best. He felt so small. 

The hallways were empty, at least in that area of the castle, and the door to the garden was just one corridor over. His ankle bracelet clinked gracefully as he walked barefoot across the golden marble, his bright green garment stitched with golden filigree motifs trailing behind him. It almost felt like he was doing something he was not supposed to, but the Prince himself had asked, so there was no wrong there now, was it?

 He found Thor in a marble pavilion he had not noticed before in his short walks through the garden. It was so old it had been completely overtaken by ivy, moss and brightly-colored flowers. The marble table in the middle looked like it had been made up in a hurry, with water and fruit and pastries thrown about in no order. Thor was already eating and Loki thought about how that’s a behavior he’d rectify in him later on, as the years would pass by - _if_ his Prince-King would not be too busy fighting wars who knows where, in which case, who would even care.  
“You do not like our clothes.” Thor said as Loki sat down opposite him on the marble bench.  
“They don’t feel comfortable to me.”  
“Is it not hard to move in your clothes, though? They look so complicated.”  
“They are actually very easy to move in and more simple than you’d think. They are easy to put on and even easier to take off.” Loki replied, picking a pastry without showing any sign that he had any idea of the implications he’d made. Thor did not comment. He kept munching, eyes lost somewhere else.

Loki assumed he lost Thor for a while there, so he looked out at the sun shining across the garden, all the flowers in full bloom, caressed by the morning light. It was a beautiful place. If Loki could stay in his chambers, with that garden to go out to, perhaps he would not ever want anything else at all. How can it be to be so young and already so fatigued with the world and its inhabitants? Loki was sure he would be even more so, in the years to follow.  
“What is expected of me, Loki of Jotunheim?” Thor woke him up from his daydreaming as he was just bringing up a piece of pastry to his mouth. He frowned in Thor’s direction and put it back down.  
“What… do you mean?”  
“Neither of us is happy with this predicament and I prefer to speak plainly. Does that suit you? Speaking plainly.”  
“I…” Loki straightened his back and brought his shoulders back up. Alright, so this was not for pleasure. It was not a problem, Loki was prepared “That suits me very much, my Prince.”  
“Very good. Well, first, for the love of all the other Gods out there, call me Thor. At least when we’re alone.” Thor started, as if it had all been building up in his mouth since the moment he’d walked into Loki’s room earlier and now he would drown if he held it in for much longer “And then, what I meant is - you and me, we are as different as the Moon and the Sun, I don’t need anyone to spell that out for me. I know nothing of your culture and I don’t know what you expect of me.”  
“What ** _I_** expect of **_you_**?” Loki uttered his words back to him, confused “I- **_You_** are the Prince. The future King! I am… no less than a prisoner in a golden cage. I am the one that has to ask you what **_your_** expectations are.”

“I never asked for this! And neither have you. I don’t want you here to be a prisoner! I don’t even remember why Jotunheim has been fighting Asgard! We’ve been at it for _millions_ of years.” Loki then opened his mouth to speak, until he realized that the only actual conflicts he knew of for certain had happened in the recent thousand years. Legends went back and forth about why the Asgardians were fighting the Jotuns and none of them were consistent, they just served to breed more hate on both sides and Loki was painfully aware of that. He swallowed his words.

 Twice removed from wars they only heard and read about, both him and Thor were in a limbo state - neither enemies, nor friends, bred to hate each other but with no good reason to. Nothing to relate that hate to.  
“I wanted to speak to you away from all the eyes at court and all the ears that accompany them, so I can understand you outside of that context. I care not if I upset you by saying this but take it I am not saying it with malice - I wanted to speak with you without your masks.”

“Very well. I will speak with you without my masks. As you can see, I don’t even have one on hand.” Loki feigned sadness as he said that. It brought a small smile out of Thor and Loki liked the way his eyes shimmered in the spots of sunlight that found their way through the foliage “What would you like to speak without masks about?”

“What do you expect of me?”  
“I don’t-”  
“Don’t continue that if you are going to speak the same things all over again.” Thor stopped him by putting one hand in the air in front of him “It’s just us and the food and the trees here. Consider this: I am as much of a prisoner in this cage as you are,” Loki gave him a somewhat reproachful look at that and Thor corrected himself “alright, not _as much_ , but a prisoner of this agreement too. Perhaps we can make it easier on ourselves by simply talking to each other?”

 Loki saw the truth in what Thor was saying, but it was not an option Loki had ever even considered in the slightest. It was not an option he had prepared for so he did not know where to go with it, on the spot, without really thinking about it. He could lie but this Prince of his would soon get bored of Loki keeping up appearances and Loki saw how the word ‘appearances’ trickled down Thor’s tongue earlier, like it had been something very unpleasant to the tongue.  
He cleaned up his fingers of the pastry flakes that had stuck to them before he spoke again.  
“How about a friend?” he asked “That’s what I expect. Even if this is an agreement, made not by our accords, it does not mean we cannot be friends. We can still rule and raise an heir to the throne together as friends too, I believe” Loki continued, with every word more certain of what he was saying.

 Thor glossed over it in his mind for the time it took Loki to close his lips on the last word before he grinned at him.  
“Agreed.”  
Loki stretched his hand out across the table, his bracelets clinking together in a sound Thor would learn to associate with him and him only from then on. He looked at that blue hand curiously and Loki knew what he was thinking:  
“It’s not cold. It’s just not as warm as yours.” he offered, without moving his hand. Thor took it, wrapping his fingers around all the big rings in a gentle but firm handshake “Thor, you must always be honest with me. If you are a truthful friend, I will be one too.” Loki said, searching Thor’s face for a sign of mischief on his part, but there wasn’t any. At least none that Loki could see.

He would tread carefully around Thor but honest he was when he said that, if Thor would be truthful to him, so would Loki. Perhaps, for once, he could trust someone? No, he really couldn’t. But he could dream about it and dance with it on the knife-edge, but never quite take the jump, as one did with everyone. Half -truths, smoke and mirrors, it was the safest way to live.

 Thor shook his hand with such certainty it almost scared Loki a little and their hands lingered one against the other like that for a few moments, each daring the other one to let go for some silly reason. Loki was the one who finally slipped out of Thor’s grip and he almost missed the contact. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been held tight, in any way.

  
Thor was the one to speak first. By the end of the morning, Loki knew all about the horses in the stables, about Asgardian swords and about the servants who were down for a drink in the kitchens. About forest hunts and about a lake somewhere in the mountains where the water was so clear you could see down to its very depths, as if it was nothing but air. Thor promised he would take Loki there, when they will be allowed to wander together.  
Loki knew that would be a long time from then and that when the time will come, they would both be busier with other things.  


 

* * *

 

"Keep up, my Prince, your legs are much longer than a hundred years ago." Heimdall said, looking down at Thor who was a step behind him. They were walking across the Bifrost in the warm sunset light, as Heimdall was returning to his post after having been summoned by Odin for a drink. They did that sometimes, just a drink, a talk Thor was not privy to. Thor wondered if Heimdall would stay in council with him over a drink when he would be King as well.  
"You are awfully quiet today, that's very unlike you." Thor just shrugged, but Heimdall would only try his words on Thor once. He gave him just a look and it was enough to get Thor talking.  
"He asked me to be his friend." Thor said, looking up at the other man. Heimdall's eyes looked more like honey, in the red sunset light.  
"I hope you accepted."  
Thor looked up at Heimdall and gave him a half-smile, as if he was unsure if to answer honestly or not "I have."  
Heimdall put one heavy hand on Thor’s shoulder and stopped him, pressing another hand on his other shoulder. Thor looked up at him, his eyes searching for guidance.  
“That is good, Thor,” Heimdall said, without saying ‘ _it’s good in spite of what your father might tell you_ ’, but it was understood, somewhere in the depths of his golden eyes “It’s good for him to know not _everyone_ is an enemy.”

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t forgotten about this story, my friends, and if you are still here, I embrace you. 
> 
> My mind’s been on this story for a long time but nothing I put down felt quite right to publish yet.  
> I’m currently working on a few of my own novels as well, so that took precedence for a while. But I hope you will enjoy this Christmas gift I have in the form of this chapter. I will have more time to write in January so expect more content then. 
> 
> The song Loki sings in the chapter is SKÁLD’s “Rún”. I figured they all shared the common language and the legends about their gods are not too different.
> 
> And I imagined the song just as a voice and drum duo basically. 
> 
> The lyrics are actually from _Voluspa en skamma_ (The Short Voluspa), which appears in its entirety in _Flateyjarbok_ , where it’s identified as _Hyndluljoth_ (Song of Hyndla). In the poem, the dead witch Hyndla tells Freyja and a human warrior named Ottar about Ottar’s ancestry, tracing him back to the gods while telling stories about the gods and their fates. 
> 
> The poem is quoted in the Prose Edda and appears outside the _Codex Regius_. The poem in itself is much longer but I only chose the lyrics SKÁLD sang to set the mood of the scene. 
> 
> Let me know if you’re not interested in reading these references, by the way.

 

 

 _But it doesn’t matter where we are,_  
_Sometimes we’re in bad places;_  
_But no-one values a ruby less for coming out of dirty soil_  
_And no-one criticises roses for coming out of manure._  
_So we all are like a ruby and like a rose._  
_We need to blossom and shine wherever we are._

  
\- Nasir Khusraw

 

 

 

  
 Heimdall watched the Universe, quietly, still as a stone, as he always did.  
He saw worlds that have never been met by war but would soon be greeted by it - he saw enemies approaching, still light-years away and a part of him wept at the thought of their lush green forests being scorched down by fire, at the thought of its men and women flayed, its unborn children baptized into the blood of war.

  
He turned his golden eyes away from it, skimmed past spaceships buried deep in the shoulder of galaxies yet unnamed, unknown, untraveled, grazed past exploding supernovas and giants that still slept, burrowed deeply inside the wombs of flesh-like planets.

He turned his eyes back towards Asgard and he reveled in its beauty, in the horseplay of young lovers that hid in the apple orchards.

 He also saw Loki, sitting on the cold marble floors of his rooms, on the quilted blankets and pillows of his homeland, weeping quietly to himself, sobs unheard, shoulders shaking.  
Heimdall could not see others like he saw the rest of the Universe, but he’d seen enough to make a correct guess or two about their character and if he knew anything for sure, he knew that the young princeling was lost, alone, terribly intelligent and perhaps too set in his ways for his own good.

  
But he also saw a gentleness and a kindness within him too and he realized that, in the face of terrible adversity, those delicate qualities of his would disappear and he was worried about what they’d leave behind instead.

Odin was wise, but he would not listen.  
Frigga was wise too, but she’d only see the good, even when the good has come to pass.  
Thor, on the other hand, was yet unblemished by wisdom and young enough to be easily angered. On the cusp of manhood, he was still soft enough to be molded, yet hard enough to forego mercy, if he felt so inclined.

  
 If anything, Heimdall thought, Thor would be the only one in Asgard who would be able to reach the Jotun princeling just enough to make him think twice and reconsider all the things he thought he knew, the things he assumed.

 

* * *

 

  
 The sunset was glowing an orange so deep as if Asgard itself was in flames.

  
 The golden decorations, the white marble floors, they shimmered under the warmth and Loki watched his feet cross it all, bare and small, delicate ankles enclosed in the consort bracelets. They jingled pleasantly in the silence of his rooms, signs of his status, signs of his imprisonment.

  
 The Queen was teaching him how to shift the shapes of objects, make them into something else, and he was making progress, but slowly. It frustrated him because he wanted to know these things to better protect himself against whoever might want to come against him.  
Even so, after hours of backbreaking work in his own rooms, he was no closer to turning something into something else. He knew that once he’d manage to, he would be able to change himself into someone else and what better a weapon than that?

But time seemed to move slow in Asgard, much slower than in Jotunheim - the days felt longer and perhaps they were. People took their time, always, there was no rush and a lot of talk - if you wanted something done, you had to be prepared to talk it out for a while. And spells themselves, they seemed to bid their time with you. 

 Dinners too, they lasted for a long time - especially painfully long times when Odin joined them. But it was a little fun as well, because him and Thor exchanged occasional glances that meant nothing at all, though neither of their smiles went unnoticed by the other.

  
After all, they shared a secret between them: the secret of being friends, the secret of being aware of what was to happen with both of them. The secret of both of them trying to have some semblance of control over it all.

Loki entertained the thought during those dinners - how he and Thor would become friends and Loki would approve or disapprove of Thor’s romances through the ages, how he would handpick the perfect lovers for him, of how they would rule side by side and rule justly and how their subsequent heir would come to life under Yggdrasil’s branches, in the arms of a Völva.

  
Those thoughts were fun and rested easy on his mind during those dinners, when those secret glances happened between them, but as soon as it was all done and Loki returned to his rooms, the doubts set in, much in the same way they had that late afternoon.

 He crossed the marble floors on his tip toes, dancing on a song he heard deep inside his mind, a memory of the drum beats that rained like thunder during the winter solstice.

The bracelets on his wrists, as he rose his hands to his sides, moving his fingers as if to strum unseen strings, the bracelets around his ankles, they clinked almost as if in rhythm.

“Eru völur allar…” he softly spoke into nothingness, in a half whispered song “frá viðolfi…” his shoulders loosened, body slowly moving side to side as he spun slowly around himself, his thin robe that left nothing to the imagination twirling around his narrow hips, around his legs “Vitkar allir frá vilmeiði...En seiðberendr frá svart-höfða”

  
His fingers, moved slowly, slowly, with almost imperceptible movements, made it almost real and he put his magic to work - he could feel the sting of the icy wind and, as he closed his eyes, he could smell the snow as it smelled in the forest, that particular scent of mud and frozen, damp tree bark “Frá svart-höfða...”

  
He could hear the drums clearly in his mind, the same way he heard them as he walked through the forest, lit up by torches, towards the winter solstice celebrations.

 As he turned around himself, and made the sounds real in his mind, he ended up in the adjacent room to his main one, where he normally would receive his guests and where they had placed a large mirror, decorated with golden motifs and it was in front of that mirror that he stopped.

  
He saw his skin, blue beneath the shimmering robe, his black hair, barely curly at all, falling in heavy curtains of darkness across his shoulders, behind horns barely grown.

Loki pulled off the robe and allowed it to fall down from his shoulders, pooling down at his feet in a shimmering mess.  
The scarification marks were darker in the heavy shadows of the sunset, and his body was as lithe as always. The pink folds of his woman parts were closed behind his cock, with scarification lines running from his hips downwards, towards them, almost inviting.

But Loki frowned - _he’d made up his mind, did he not?_ That he would try to be friends with Thor, as long as Thor would be friends with him. But, at the same time, he couldn’t but wonder how repulsed Thor would be of his body.

Loki himself, he wouldn’t have felt ashamed of it, if only it wouldn’t have been so unlike his own kin - so small, so _weak_. Would Thor think the same if he would see it? He didn’t have to see it, of course, and Loki didn’t think Thor would want to either - there was no need for intimacy between them at all. Their future heir would be born out of ancient powers, out of the seed of their own different types of magic, their different life forces. 

  
But even so, Loki wondered - if he’d feel to tug of intimacy towards Thor, at any point, would Thor ever welcome him in his bed or would he be repulsed and disgusted at the thought of laying with a Jotun who was neither male or female?

These dark thoughts haunted him ever since that day in the garden and Loki didn’t know why.

 

An orange landed at his feet.

 Loki turned around himself, startled, and, without thinking, his daggers appeared in his hands instantly.  
Thor’s voice broke through the room “It’s me,” he said but Loki couldn’t see him.  
“Where are you?”  
“I’m next to the door by the garden.”  
Loki retreated the daggers swiftly as if they’d never been there “I cannot see you.”  
“I heard you sing and I didn’t want to interrupt. But I also didn’t want to barge in like - like last time.” he said, a tinge of embarrassment staining his voice.  
“I appreciate that…” Loki said and collected his robe from the floor, wrapping it around himself and walked slowly towards the bedroom, where the door towards the garden was located.

He’d left it wide open - he always did, and he could see Thor’s shoulder and a part of his tunic and pants as he leaned with his back into the wall outside “Why are you here, my Prince?”  
“I was wondering if you would like to take a walk with me. It’s breezy outside.”  
Loki looked through the clothes in his chest, taking his time in deciding what to put on. He had to admit, he did take a bit of pleasure out of making Thor wait on him “I believe at this time you are usually found with your comrades, training.”  
“You know my schedule quite well.” Thor said and Loki saw his head turn, just a little, but he didn’t look inside.

“I spent some time with the Queen this week. She speaks of you often, as mothers do.”  
“She also told me that you are not quite willing to be around me when I am with my friends.” Thor snapped back, but it was not malicious - he wanted to show him he had information too.  
“I bare them no ill, my Prince-”  
“ _Thor_.”  
“Thor… but I believe I would not be a welcome addition to your group, at least not at the moment.”  
“They find you strange, that’s all.” Thor’s reply came, disarmingly honest. Stupidly honest, even, Loki thought. He always spoke so openly Loki wondered how come he didn’t get in trouble more often.

  
“Of course they do,” Loki said, placing two garments, one ochre the other blood red, over the sheets, assessing them “We are quite different.” He chose the ochre one and placed it over his robe, taking a blood red sash to match it with instead.  
“You don’t seem upset by it.”  
“No reason to.” Loki lied “We _are_ different. And my interests don't rest in fighting or glorious deeds - I have no wish to fight giants. That is your job, my Prince.” he continued, and he felt the venom on the tip of his tongue, but Thor seemed completely oblivious to it.

“I would like to show you a place you might like, if you would want to walk with me.” Thor said and this time he turned around completely and caught Loki off-guard.  
He was almost dressed up but he’d not pulled the ochre robe over his shoulder and chest properly just yet and he froze in place for a second when Thor stepped inside. But he decided not to allow it to bother him and continued to tie the sash around himself and opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by Thor.

  
“What are those?”  
Loki frowned “What are what?”  
Thor pointed at his scarification marks “What happened?”  
“Oh, nothing at all." Loki waved his hand in his direction, dismissively "Every Jotun of royal blood has them. They are given to us as children first, then later on in life. I was supposed to get mine in a few hundred years, but since I was sent here so early, I got them as a child.”  
“Did they hurt?”

“I wouldn’t remember, I was too young. I suppose they did.” Loki shrugged, as if it wasn’t important, as if he didn’t remember the last ones, the ones that went from his hips downwards towards his genitals, clear as day, the excruciating pain he felt and how little effect the numbing concoction the Shamaness gave him had.  
It was supposed to hurt some, they said, because he was to be consort, and his body would be used by a King.

Thor didn’t know Loki’s markings were not just royal markings but markings that defined him as property. He wasn’t going to tell Thor that.  
“I’ve never seen anything like it… do you have them all across your body?”  
Loki couldn’t look at him. In all honesty, it was the closest they’d been to each other since Thor had lifted his veil when he arrived in Asgard and he felt a little apprehensive “They’re most obvious over my chest, stomach and back, but yes.”

“Can I see them?” Thor asked, curiously.  
Loki snapped almost instantly, taking half a step back, pulling the robe over his chest and shoulder “No, you cannot!” he said and pulled the sash tighter around himself, to keep the robe in place “I mean… we’re not married yet, I-” he started, voice softer, until he realized that was he was about to say was senseless anyway.  
“I didn’t mean-”  
“It’s fine.” Loki said too, interjecting their words one on top of the other. He took a deep breath and released the sash, just a little, and allowed the top half of his ochre robe to fall down around his waist.

 Thor watched him curiously - Loki could tell, even if he only saw him in the corner of his eye. He’d never been stark naked in front of anyone to begin with - he washed himself as soon as he understood how to do it and since then no one had seen him naked except for the Shamaness who carved the markings.

  
 Jotun culture was about layers and hidden things and the body was one of those things. It belonged to one’s self selfishly and would only be shared with others with utmost intimacy. But Jotunheim was a long way away and Loki understood he had to get it through his thick skull that the rules had changed and he had to adapt.

If he wanted Thor to give him his trust, Loki had to risk and show Thor he too, trusted him.

Thor walked around Loki slowly, looking at the intricate scars and stopped behind him and Loki could swear he could feel the warmth of the Prince’s hands hovering over his skin.  
“These are very deep…”  
“One of our Goddesses was said to have had sealskin across her back, tougher than anything. That’s what the markings mean and that’s why on the back they’re deeper - the deeper they are, the more protected we are too.” Loki explained and then quickly added, with a shiver in his voice he couldn’t make disappear in time “ _Please ask_ before touching them... if you _want_ to touch them, I mean. In Jotunheim we don’t really… touch each other as liberally as I have seen the Asgardians do.”

 He could feel Thor’s warmth move away from his skin. He couldn’t see him but if he turned around, he’d be too close to him and Loki felt suddenly uncomfortable with that closeness.  
“You don’t _touch_?”  
“Only when we’re intimate with each other.”  
“Then I shouldn’t.”  
“This is not Jotunheim. You can touch, as long as you ask for permission first.” Loki clarified. Suddenly, he was hungry for it - for _touch_. As if Thor’s close presence, strangely warm, almost as warm as the sunset outside, had lit up a flame inside him.

  
It had happened before to Loki, when Sigge played in his hair after a bath or when his father gave him the rare, awkward hugs he sometimes did when he was very drunk.

Touch set something aflame inside him that would not let him rest for days and he wanted more and more until no more was given to him and it all had to subside deep within himself again.

“Can I touch them, then?”  
With a heavy heart, Lokin answered “Yes, you can.”

 _Warmth._  
 Thor’s fingers touched the grooves of his scars, with gentleness and curiosity and Loki closed his eyes to the contact - it was invasive and it made him uncomfortable but at the same time it filled a need in him that he couldn’t quite grasp on.  
“They’re very deep…” Thor, he said, his voice a mere whisper over his fascination “The tip of my finger could almost fit inside these lines. How can you not remember the pain?”

  
Loki sighed, just a little, mostly to himself, his right hand closed over the wrist of the left as he stood there, exposed to the blue eyes of a Prince who could not even fathom to understand the depths of Loki’s soul.

  
“I-I lied…” he admitted and he felt a pang of guilt at his own honesty. He felt weak in that moment, admitting to it, but the need to do it was stronger than the feeling of guilt “I _do_ remember it, but I would rather not to.”  
“What about the ones on your face?” Thor asked and his hand pressed on Loki’s shoulder, warm and gentle, and turned him around.

 The only reason he found enough courage to look up at Thor was because he heard his mother’s voice in the back of his mind, telling him _not to be weak._ When he did, his own eyes met Thor’s blue ones, as clear as the Asgardian morning skies.  
“I can’t really see them, they’re very thin. I only noticed them in the garden, in the sunlight.”  
“Those, I don’t remember at all. They were given to me at birth.” Loki admitted, this time honestly.

  
“To me, this is cruel, “ Thor said, his blue eyes crossing Loki’s face, all of the scars that adorned it. His hand hovered from the shoulder to his face, but he left it in the air without touching him “but I find no sadness in your voice.” Thor returned to Loki’s eyes and he did his best to hold his gaze, even if he had to look up at the Asgardian Prince - he was one head taller than him and, for one moment, Loki really wanted this difference between them to remain forever.

He wished with all his heart he would not grow to his mother’s size and tower over Thor in height. Loki didn’t know what possessed him to think that in that moment, but he thought it nonetheless.

“It’s not cruel. It’s how things are done on Jotunheim and have been done since ancient times. Our culture is very set in its own ways, Thor. We co-exist with snow and ice and Goddesses that are mountains-tall. We live most of our days in a permanent twilight and when winter comes, it’s mostly dark. These features of my world can only give birth to a culture you call ‘cruel’.”

  
“We’re very different, you and I.”  
“But we’ll try to make this work, _right_? As friends.” Loki almost spoke at the same second Thor finished his words, infused perhaps with a bit too much hope than he should have. He could have been drunk for all the foolish things that were coming out of his mouth in that moment.

 He stopped himself from saying anything more but Thor’s eyes softened and he smiled and Loki saw the wrinkles that would trace his face as he would grow older, the deep set ones in the corners of his eyes too, which would do nothing but make his face look more handsome and radiant.

The vision disappeared in a moment’s notice but the effect it had on Loki lingered.  
“I’ll do what I can.” Thor said. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, before he snapped out of it and he grabbed Loki’s upper half of the robe, which lay around Loki’s waist, with his own hands and pulled it over his shoulders “I want to show you something. Mother said you have taken to her books, have you not?”  
“I-I have, yes.” Loki replied, confused, taking a hold of his clothes and putting his hands through the sleeves, helped by Thor.  
“Well, then I believe you will like what I have to show you!”

 

* * *

 

 Loki saw the strain on Thor’s muscles, as he pushed open the heavily decorated wooden door.  
That particular castle wing Loki had not visited before and it seemed it was a relic of much older times - the architecture was not as loose and carefree, it was filled with sharp angles and dark corners.

It featured less gold and more granite, more silver, heavier decorations and maze-like corridors in a combination that, strangely, offered Loki more comfort than the wide and tall golden halls of the other wings of the castle he had visited.

“The scholars only come here to take what they need, but they don’t linger. You saw the books in the library Mother stays in. They’re all from here.” Thor said and allowed Loki to step inside as he waved his hand in the general direction of the room and the torches lit up, one by one.

  
 They revealed shelves that went all the way up to the ceiling, encompassing no less than two floors worth of books, rooted into a dark marble floor that hosted heavy wood tables and chairs. Three stained-glass windows on the wall opposite the door towered over the library.  
It took Loki’s breath away.

The library on Jotunheim was large too but it was a maze of underground tunnels where books were more often than not going to waste because of the damp and the mold. This library, while dusty, it was dry and easily accessible.  
“What do you think?”  
“How many books _are_ in here?”  
“Thousands, I suppose?” Thor said, unsure “I don’t really know. Books are not my thing...I don’t come here.”  
“But I can?”  
“Of course.”  
“ _Whenever_ I want?”  
Thor shrugged as he walked inside, following a Loki more excited than he’d thought him capable of being “I don’t see why not.”

“Are you sure the Queen won’t mind? The King?”  
“No reason to. No one comes here anymore. But Mother told me a while ago there’s books of magic here as well as stories and legends and poetry.”  
“She did not suggest you show me this?” Loki looked over his shoulder at Thor.  
“No, I thought about it earlier today. I figured, since you’re not comfortable with my friends and I am not always around, you might enjoy coming here, since you like books.”  
“I could try staying with your friends but -”  
“I don’t need you to explain it to me." Thor stopped him "It doesn’t matter we’re Asgardian and Jotun - we’re different people with different interests too. No reason not to pursue them separately, right?” Thor said, putting his hands behind his back and walking through the middle of the library, looking up at the books.

His eyes searched all over the shelves with something Loki could call reverence - the reverence of someone who knows he is in the presence of something he does not understand very well but acknowledges the value of said thing.

  
“When I was very young, I always searched for people to play with or talk to. And when their opinions or interests did not fit mine, I always tried to change them. Mother taught me to appreciate those who are different from me as well, so I don’t see any reason why that shouldn’t be the case with you.”

 Loki tilted his head towards Thor, who was standing with his back turned to him, his golden locks tied in a loose bun on the back of his head.

  
Curious, how emotionally intelligent Thor seemed. Loki walked towards him and stood by his side.  
“Thank you.”  
“You’re welcome.” Thor said, looking down at him, smiling. He seemed extremely pleased with himself and there was something about that self-confidence that made Loki want to slap him gently over his flushed cheeks while at the same time made him want to give the Prince a hug.

  
“Unfortunately, I must go. We are preparing for a hunt in the mountains, and we have to pick the horses today so we can ride tomorrow.”  
“How long will you be gone?”  
“A week, or so.” Thor said “Did you see the snowy peaks from your window? That’s where we’re going.”  
“What will you be hunting?”  
“Snow cats and white deer. If we’re lucky, we might find a white fox or two, but they’re very elusive.”  
“I’ve never seen one. We don’t have many small animals on Jotunheim.”  
“I will bring you the fur of a white fox then, if we manage to hunt one. They are as white as snow and as soft as the morning breeze.” Thor said, very sure of himself.

Loki laughed and he felt warm in that moment, warm and comfortable and, strangely, safe. It was that feeling that made him reach around his neck and take off one of his necklaces. He extracted from it a pendant, a round silver, coin-like pendant with a turquoise stone set in the middle.

  
“I noticed you wear a leather necklace around your neck. I’m offering you this to put on it. It’s a blessed amulet made by the Shamaness back home, for safe travels.”  
Thor stared at it, his hands hesitating in the air. It took Loki a moment until thoughts invaded his mind and he closed his fingers over it “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it… you might not want to wear Jotun jewelry.”  
“No, no!” Thor was quick to react “I can hide it under my clothes. I am worried I might lose it.”  
“Then take good care of it.” Loki said.

 Their eyes met in that moment and held each other's gazes evenly and a shift occurred between them, though neither of them could exactly tell what the shift _was_. But the fact remained that something, something intangible, had _changed_.

  
Thor took the pendant and slipped it on the leather necklace he wore. It hung heavy on his chest and you couldn’t see it, not even beneath his tunic.  
“Thank you.”  
Loki straightened his back and placed his hands one inside of the other. He saw the restlessness on Thor’s face, how his entire body was being tugged towards the stables, towards the mountains.  
“Go, my Prince. Hunt well.” he said.

Thor smiled, but he took his queue. He nodded at him, a half bow of sorts, a mockery of one more like it, an understanding between them that there was no room for formality between the two of them but that they respected each other enough to offer it nonetheless.

 Loki watched him disappear beyond the door and then his eyes turned towards the library and he inhaled its scent deeply. The scent of dust and old things.

  
At the same time, he felt a weight in the middle of his chest, a knot in his stomach that made him look over his shoulder, at the door beyond Thor had walked out of.

He wasn’t there anymore, he was on his way to the stables but Loki could feel his presence linger, somehow, in the air, in the ghost of the touch his fingers had left in the grooves of the scars on his back.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed the chapter or if you have any thoughts or questions about the stories, I am VERY responsive.  
> The comments not only tell me about what you liked about the story and give me the necessary boost to continue writing and write more often on it but also help me assert if the story is worth continuing or if I should delete it.
> 
> Also, I now have a Twitter, so follow me there for updates and me yelling about Thor, Loki and the Norse mythology: @betadeviant200


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